The
autumnal season baffles me. I revel in the red, russet and golden glory of the
landscape. I squint cheerfully at the shafts of dazzling sunlight, and am
gleefully surprised by the short startling showers of rain.

But
- the heavy rainfall comes not as a happy surprise, nor the frosty cold and wet;
ominous threat of a gliding, sliding pathway that could appear overnight,
enhanced by autumnal snowfall. And then the wild wind, making stage appearance
with full force.

Is
this autumn or winter?

I
like to believe in an autumn that heralds winter, the season when gold turns to
grey, and light to darkness with smooth and gentle movement, rather than the
harsh twist from soft obscurity into total gloom.

Today
I dress in sandwich apparel, to insulate my body and add to my weight. I am no
match for the wind. My cap flies off and I am jolted into accelerated mobility
in a dervish dance. One glove, pulled over frozen fingers, falls to the ground.
I remove the second to pick up the first, and sob at the sight of the two on
icy earth. Fingers hurt with cold, even as I slip on wet gloves with polar
hands and jam my cap on a now wintry head.

I
continue on my autumn jaunt, and stop short to pay respect to a mass of
orange-bordered crimson cabbages alongside tangerine and frenetic fuchsia
chrysanthemums tended resolutely by someone making the most of the fleeting
season. Here Autumn plays herald in tangible tone. Even as I squash tarnished
leaves under my feet and raise my head to commiserate with trees in a state of
undress, the riot of resilient colour brightens my path."